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I hope you chaps don't kill me for this one. I'm just writing four short stories in this thread about my favorite civ...the Celts... These are four stories (somewhat) based on old Celtic legends, especially from Britain and France.
Er...the plots will get better soon, don't worry!
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The Vain Lady
There once lived in a castle on an island by Iona a woman whose countenance was reckoned to be the fairest in all the world.
She who was known as Lady Galldah lived in an ancient castle that had stood on the little sandy island for as long as anyone dared recall. No one alive could say when it came up, exactly, but those who had made it must have been mighty indeed to stand the crashing of the surf as they worked away. They must have been driven mad, it was said.
The tall, dark structure was falling apart from old age and poor maintenance; the surf and the tide had battered the sea wall since those centuries long past when it first went up. Much of the castle had collapsed in upon itself, now resembling more a great black and terrible heap than a mighty fortress. The building decayed slowly in the wetness of the Farne as the birds circled overheard and the sea rolled on as it has always done in endless unbroken waves that have moved since the dawn of all time.
It was believed by those who lived across the water that only one half of the castle stood in any recognizable form, and of that only one half, though a monstrous one half, was inhabitable. For all the wear and tear, it was still noted that the structure could only be reached at low tide, when a sandy land bridge was formed by the receding tide, leaving behind the weeds and the clams. And so, when mood struck them, one of the inhabitants of the castle might journey out. However, this was a rare thing indeed.
It was always wondered why a Lord such as the Lady Galldah’s father would choose to live up in such a ruin from which there seemed no escape except at mid-day. The old wives of the town across the land bridge always suspected something foul of that old Lord. He dribbles, they used to say, and is out of his mind. The surf, endlessly pounding those evil old stones, has dented his brain, the poor fellow. There is water up there in that old mind of his.
It could not be denied by travelers paying their respects that the old Lord was a strange sight. He was usually to be found at table, and at that asleep, or in some stupor. He did dribble, unfortunately, all over his father expensive looking red gown. It seemed, though, that the gown was just as ancient as he, dust-covered and tattered. In a way, it fit him like a glove.
Those who were unimpressed by the Lord were certainly impressed by his daughter, the very glorious Lady Galldah. She wore her long, golden hair down to her ankles, it was said, and she was usually to be found in her green costumes parading about her own little study, where she would make herself up like all young girls. Her white and handsome face was usually pouring over a water-mirror she kept in her marble basin. She would look at it daily, and then wash it with her many ointments. She was believed wise by many and good company, and seemingly a perfect wife for a King. She had a failing, of course. She was known to be vain in her own ways, but it was not a deterrent to her admirers. It certainly wasn’t her father who attracted the many young courtiers who sought to cross to the Farne.
They said that another attraction to the family other than the Lady Galldah was the immense fortune that was supposedly to be found hidden among the rotting timbers somewhere in one of the old keeps. The family had made its fortune on the castle, apparently, allying themselves with an emerging King and granting him refuge in the old fortress during the wars.
The King’s enemies pursued him with an army to the castle, intending to destroy it in a siege. The fighting moved onto the land bridge at low tide and went the way of the attackers until the King’s reinforcements arrived to assist the besieged. Instead of charging in for the kill, the troops simply waited for the high tide. The enemy, trapped on the land bridge, vanished into the surf and were all drowned. The spoils were shared then, one third going to the Lord of the castle. This same treasure was sought after by the many young nobles who came as suitor to the Lady Galldah.
There were indeed many suitors as well. They came year after year, young and brash, thinking the world of themselves, drooling over the Lady’s comely features and her mounds of gold. It usually passed that some prince or knight from a distant tribe or land would soon find himself engaged to wed the Lady, and he would enjoy some moment of happiness before the whole thing was quietly called off. So it happened, the suitors came and were gradually forgotten.
There even came one day a young prince of Limerick, the second son of the King of that state. He was known as Gwydion, and was an energetic and impetuous youth who seemed to favor the hunt above all things. And so, when he arrived at the little town across the land bridge from the castle, he carried his hawk with him until a squire came up to take him.
Much of Gwydion’s baggage was still lagging behind somewhat, and the young prince decided, as it was nearly low tide when he arrived, to cross over on his own for his first meeting with the beautiful Lady Galldah. So, when low tide came, leaving behind only foam, rocks, clams, and weeds, he began to trot over on his own, mounted on a quiet old mare whom he had been forced to borrow from a groom as his horse was watered back at the town. The first sight of the castle was somewhat depressing. The black old thing sat slumped there on the cliff like some foreboding mountain that seemed to be caving in on itself. There was a strange air to the place that he at first sight did not find agreeable.
He arrived at the gate and called for a porter. Nothing happened at all, except for a monstrous echo that resounded among those black battlements, frightening a group of gulls that immediately took to circling the fortress once more. The castle seemed utterly deserted and devoid of life. He called once again, louder this time.
Finally there came some response. A door opened out of the wall, and out stepped a tall, longhaired maiden clad entirely in green who immediately beckoned Gwydion onward. “Are you the Lady Galldah?” asked the prince, sheepishly.
“I am, sir. Please, come in.” The voice was certainly pleasant, and matched with her features, quite irresistible. The prince found that his mind had already been made up. He entered in after her, bounding like a hound on the trial of a hare.
“I am, as you must know, here for your hand, fair lady, if I can gain also your heart,” said Gwydion, again in a sheepish attitude. He was unused to this sort of thing.
She laughed with a sweet voice. “Oh, I am sure that a suitor such as you will have little trouble with that.” She led onward, deeper into the bowels of the castle, and past the old stones, toward a tall, winding stone staircase.
“I hope not…I am, as you see, weary from a long trip, and should like to stay long, but I must see to my baggage back across the water in town this evening, so I must not linger today, I fear.”
“Worry not, I see your trouble…”
“No trouble at all, Lady, not for you.” As he said this, he wondered why he sounded like a fool to himself.
“You shall dine with us, I hope, before you leave?” She pushed open a little door, and for a moment there was a flash of blinding light as the prince saw what lay beyond. The room was filled with windows, all shining in pure light, bathing the room in the stuff. There was, in the middle of the room, surrounded by shields and lances, a table. Upon the table there lay a massive assortment of meats and dishes. And there, sitting at the head of the table, was the Lord, snoring away in one of his stupors, and dribbling like mad. He was a wretched old man, indeed, and certainly far older than his daughter. He must have first laid eyes on his daughter an old man, and only gotten worse on since.
“I will eat with you, Lady, for a short while. I thank you for your bountiful hospitality.”
“Then come in, and do not mind my father. Old age dulls the senses and withers away the spirit, and so he has been so weathered. In time, so shall all man be such, it is the course of things.”
And so they sat, talked, and ate for what must have been two hours until high tide approached and the prince had to leave. He spoke with her on many subjects during his discussions, always about the climate of the region, the state of things in Limerick, or poetry. Politics and art don’t usually mix well, but it made no matter. Gwydion left some deal heavier, and smitten to boot. He only hoped that the Lady Galldah felt the same of him.
And so he returned to an inn for the evening where he stayed overseeing his baggage. The tide had washed over the bridge again, and he would have to wait until the next day before he could lay eyes on the maiden again. And so it was that he supped at the inn, and was approached by a rather fat old lady who appeared to know everything about anything.
“Are you another one of that lady’s suitors?” she asked from out of the blue, approaching his table where he sat making good of some meats, dry cheeses and a few loaves of bread.
“I am, woman. What of it?” he asked with a snort.
“Aye, another fool. I supposed at much. You’re in for it, laddie!” It was her turn to make a snort, but she gave it in a more porcine fashion than the prince could ever have managed.
“Why’s that? I have met her, she keeps good company!” he said with some disgust.
“Aye, wise lady, ain’t she?”
“She is a wise woman, yes.”
“That’s because she’s a witch, I say, young man. A regular Druid, and a bad one at that. Worse than most. She doesn’t pray to trees as much as she drains their sap like a little leech for her abominable potions and such…”
“What say you? Why do you make such outrageous accusations, then, woman? You know nothing of this!”
“Do I not? I’ve lived here all my life…sixty good years…and never once has the Lady Galldah not been living in those towers…”
“Preposterous! She can’t be more than twenty-five! You’re mad…”
“Am I now? Ask anyone. I warned you blokes before about her. You never listen, then you vanish away into thin air. Why isn’t she married now, eh?”
“She hasn’t found the right man. The time will soon come,” he responded, boastfully. “Besides, if old crones such as you find it perfectly understandable to slander her good name about, no wonder some of the more dull-witted suitors retreat wenceforth they came!”
“Crone, am I? If it weren’t for you lot, she’d be a bag of bones!”
“What?”
“Look, man…did ye see any servants walking about the castle, now? You saw how big the thing is. You’d expect to see someone traipsing about besides the Ladyship and her father…” she spoke slowly, “Wouldn’t ye now?”
“I…did not see any, this is true…but I saw food in great abundance…”
“She’s a witch. She makes her own with her spells. Her spells also make her young, but not without some ingredients…”
“You’re mad!”
“I’m mad? She grinds up the suitors, don’t you see? The energetic ones she goes for. Her stock must be replenished yearly, you know. She runs low on the stuff…”
A piece of bread suddenly dropped out of Gwydion’s mouth. What sort of madwoman was he dealing with? He nervously reached for his bread knife just in case she started foaming…
“Been inside her study? Nay, course not. Not yet. She gets them in there. She has a little pool, you she. She takes the essence from these men, here, and she puts them in her little vials. She pours the stuff out into her little pool so as she can wash her face in it all and rejuvenate herself. She gives a little to her father, but only to keep suspicions down. She thinks we’ll all die off and never notice these things…we know all right. But you lot don’t…she’s been feeding on you for ages!”
“That’s quite enough!”
“You’ll see. She’ll take you in there, you know, and make her preparation. First, she’ll use whatever’s left of the last fool, and then she’ll go in for you…”
“Leave me, woman!”
“You have silver for the lady? Show her! You’ll see! A witch, I say!”
The Prince had heard enough. He quickly moved away from the table, and went outside, slamming the little oaken door behind him. Breathing in some of the sea air, he glanced across the firth at the castle, and then went in search of his baggage master.
The next morning was more pleasant. After a light breakfast, he went walking along the shore. He found himself pondering over what that old biddy had said, and tried to dismiss it from his mind. There were odd things about the castle, yes, but the Lady Galldah seemed hardly a witch. This was an old maid’s tale, such as frequently passes about small towns and hamlets where the inhabitants find little to get excited over except rich visitors and their doings.
All the same, he decided to take with him a silver hairpin among the gifts he had brought for her.
At noon, as the tide receded, the Prince Gwydion rode his now watered stallion over the land bridge, approaching the rotting pyramid of stone once again. This time, in response to his call, the door opened immediately, and out again stepped the beautiful lady, clad as always in green, looking just as fresh and beautiful as always.
“Ah, I see my visitor is punctual as ever this morning,” she said.
“I am, Lady. I could not be more pleased than I am to see you again.”
She led him inside once again, and he found himself taking another walk through the corroding passages.
“Pardon, Lady Galldah, but are we walking to the banquet hall? This seems to be a different route. I am assuredly mistaken, but…”
“No, dear one, you are quite correct. The food is still being prepared, and in preparation I will entertain you in my own study. You will find it quite interesting, I think. My father was an avid collector of all things scientific. You will find much in there to display this curiosity.”
She stepped inside the room first, and then beckoned him onward with one of her graceful fingers. “Here we are, my dear.”
The room was not especially large, but it was amazing all the same. From one of the arched stone windows protruded a rather gray beam of light that seemed to shine down through the rotting rafters in one of the old ceilings. More such beams shot down from the old arrow loops carved into the walls.
There were many striking items in the room. Most immediately he saw the marble mirror that stood in the center. There was a basin carved within, and there sat inside it a pool of water. She stood over it immediately to look at her reflection and to straighten her hair out with a brush she had by the pool. His eye darted to a bookshelf that was built into the wall. There sat a pile of scrolls, some half-burned candles, and a strange bottle containing a small amount of strange liquid. There were also some stuffed animals such as the rather peevish-looking badger and a very timid hare. He also noted a large black astrolabe standing to one corner of the room.
With a little word, she departed the room momentarily. He quietly reached for the bottle, and opened it. A strange smell emerged from it, and he slowly acted by removing the contents of the bottle as a precaution through one of the windows with a motion of his arm. He then quickly dipped the stuff into the pool, trapping a small amount of water.
He did this without really being aware of what he was doing. Perhaps the woman’s words, followed by the appearance of the study, had bothered him more than he thought. As it was, he took this little precaution, and replaced the bottle upon the shelf before the Lady re-entered the room.
“Sit, dear one,” she said, pointing at a chair by the window.
“Let me first present you with a little gift, if I may,” he responded. He reached into his bag for the right item.
“Why, certainly, I shall not refuse it,” she said with a smile.
He removed a silver hairpin from his bag.
“Put it away! Put it away!” she said, suddenly, flinging herself in one corner, turning about suddenly, and shaking wildly.
His heart sank. “What is it? Have I offended you with my gift? This belonged to my mother…Ah well. If you do not favor it, I shall put it back…” He did so with a sigh, and then leapt for the door. It was locked.
“You are the first to know it, Gwydion. None of your predecessors listened to those warnings, you know,” she said with a smile. “I’m almost sorry. If I could find two men with such energy, I would gratefully smite them both, and share them with you for their energy. I could live with such a man as you, but without one, I would hardly be able to. You see, I live off you suitors. Without you, I’d die… Ah well. You are the bitter hero. A sad price to pay for my immortality, perhaps? My vanity, you see…my only fault…I love my own reflection! I can’t let it grow old!”
“I didn’t believe her…I can’t believe her…” he said with a little voice. His eyes were wide with some unholy terror as she slunk closer to him. He looked upon her and saw a streak of gray in her yellow hair.
“The time is coming fast,” she said, reaching for the bottle. “I’ll attend to you in a minute, dear one. Let me finish off the last one first.”
Er...the plots will get better soon, don't worry!
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The Vain Lady
There once lived in a castle on an island by Iona a woman whose countenance was reckoned to be the fairest in all the world.
She who was known as Lady Galldah lived in an ancient castle that had stood on the little sandy island for as long as anyone dared recall. No one alive could say when it came up, exactly, but those who had made it must have been mighty indeed to stand the crashing of the surf as they worked away. They must have been driven mad, it was said.
The tall, dark structure was falling apart from old age and poor maintenance; the surf and the tide had battered the sea wall since those centuries long past when it first went up. Much of the castle had collapsed in upon itself, now resembling more a great black and terrible heap than a mighty fortress. The building decayed slowly in the wetness of the Farne as the birds circled overheard and the sea rolled on as it has always done in endless unbroken waves that have moved since the dawn of all time.
It was believed by those who lived across the water that only one half of the castle stood in any recognizable form, and of that only one half, though a monstrous one half, was inhabitable. For all the wear and tear, it was still noted that the structure could only be reached at low tide, when a sandy land bridge was formed by the receding tide, leaving behind the weeds and the clams. And so, when mood struck them, one of the inhabitants of the castle might journey out. However, this was a rare thing indeed.
It was always wondered why a Lord such as the Lady Galldah’s father would choose to live up in such a ruin from which there seemed no escape except at mid-day. The old wives of the town across the land bridge always suspected something foul of that old Lord. He dribbles, they used to say, and is out of his mind. The surf, endlessly pounding those evil old stones, has dented his brain, the poor fellow. There is water up there in that old mind of his.
It could not be denied by travelers paying their respects that the old Lord was a strange sight. He was usually to be found at table, and at that asleep, or in some stupor. He did dribble, unfortunately, all over his father expensive looking red gown. It seemed, though, that the gown was just as ancient as he, dust-covered and tattered. In a way, it fit him like a glove.
Those who were unimpressed by the Lord were certainly impressed by his daughter, the very glorious Lady Galldah. She wore her long, golden hair down to her ankles, it was said, and she was usually to be found in her green costumes parading about her own little study, where she would make herself up like all young girls. Her white and handsome face was usually pouring over a water-mirror she kept in her marble basin. She would look at it daily, and then wash it with her many ointments. She was believed wise by many and good company, and seemingly a perfect wife for a King. She had a failing, of course. She was known to be vain in her own ways, but it was not a deterrent to her admirers. It certainly wasn’t her father who attracted the many young courtiers who sought to cross to the Farne.
They said that another attraction to the family other than the Lady Galldah was the immense fortune that was supposedly to be found hidden among the rotting timbers somewhere in one of the old keeps. The family had made its fortune on the castle, apparently, allying themselves with an emerging King and granting him refuge in the old fortress during the wars.
The King’s enemies pursued him with an army to the castle, intending to destroy it in a siege. The fighting moved onto the land bridge at low tide and went the way of the attackers until the King’s reinforcements arrived to assist the besieged. Instead of charging in for the kill, the troops simply waited for the high tide. The enemy, trapped on the land bridge, vanished into the surf and were all drowned. The spoils were shared then, one third going to the Lord of the castle. This same treasure was sought after by the many young nobles who came as suitor to the Lady Galldah.
There were indeed many suitors as well. They came year after year, young and brash, thinking the world of themselves, drooling over the Lady’s comely features and her mounds of gold. It usually passed that some prince or knight from a distant tribe or land would soon find himself engaged to wed the Lady, and he would enjoy some moment of happiness before the whole thing was quietly called off. So it happened, the suitors came and were gradually forgotten.
There even came one day a young prince of Limerick, the second son of the King of that state. He was known as Gwydion, and was an energetic and impetuous youth who seemed to favor the hunt above all things. And so, when he arrived at the little town across the land bridge from the castle, he carried his hawk with him until a squire came up to take him.
Much of Gwydion’s baggage was still lagging behind somewhat, and the young prince decided, as it was nearly low tide when he arrived, to cross over on his own for his first meeting with the beautiful Lady Galldah. So, when low tide came, leaving behind only foam, rocks, clams, and weeds, he began to trot over on his own, mounted on a quiet old mare whom he had been forced to borrow from a groom as his horse was watered back at the town. The first sight of the castle was somewhat depressing. The black old thing sat slumped there on the cliff like some foreboding mountain that seemed to be caving in on itself. There was a strange air to the place that he at first sight did not find agreeable.
He arrived at the gate and called for a porter. Nothing happened at all, except for a monstrous echo that resounded among those black battlements, frightening a group of gulls that immediately took to circling the fortress once more. The castle seemed utterly deserted and devoid of life. He called once again, louder this time.
Finally there came some response. A door opened out of the wall, and out stepped a tall, longhaired maiden clad entirely in green who immediately beckoned Gwydion onward. “Are you the Lady Galldah?” asked the prince, sheepishly.
“I am, sir. Please, come in.” The voice was certainly pleasant, and matched with her features, quite irresistible. The prince found that his mind had already been made up. He entered in after her, bounding like a hound on the trial of a hare.
“I am, as you must know, here for your hand, fair lady, if I can gain also your heart,” said Gwydion, again in a sheepish attitude. He was unused to this sort of thing.
She laughed with a sweet voice. “Oh, I am sure that a suitor such as you will have little trouble with that.” She led onward, deeper into the bowels of the castle, and past the old stones, toward a tall, winding stone staircase.
“I hope not…I am, as you see, weary from a long trip, and should like to stay long, but I must see to my baggage back across the water in town this evening, so I must not linger today, I fear.”
“Worry not, I see your trouble…”
“No trouble at all, Lady, not for you.” As he said this, he wondered why he sounded like a fool to himself.
“You shall dine with us, I hope, before you leave?” She pushed open a little door, and for a moment there was a flash of blinding light as the prince saw what lay beyond. The room was filled with windows, all shining in pure light, bathing the room in the stuff. There was, in the middle of the room, surrounded by shields and lances, a table. Upon the table there lay a massive assortment of meats and dishes. And there, sitting at the head of the table, was the Lord, snoring away in one of his stupors, and dribbling like mad. He was a wretched old man, indeed, and certainly far older than his daughter. He must have first laid eyes on his daughter an old man, and only gotten worse on since.
“I will eat with you, Lady, for a short while. I thank you for your bountiful hospitality.”
“Then come in, and do not mind my father. Old age dulls the senses and withers away the spirit, and so he has been so weathered. In time, so shall all man be such, it is the course of things.”
And so they sat, talked, and ate for what must have been two hours until high tide approached and the prince had to leave. He spoke with her on many subjects during his discussions, always about the climate of the region, the state of things in Limerick, or poetry. Politics and art don’t usually mix well, but it made no matter. Gwydion left some deal heavier, and smitten to boot. He only hoped that the Lady Galldah felt the same of him.
And so he returned to an inn for the evening where he stayed overseeing his baggage. The tide had washed over the bridge again, and he would have to wait until the next day before he could lay eyes on the maiden again. And so it was that he supped at the inn, and was approached by a rather fat old lady who appeared to know everything about anything.
“Are you another one of that lady’s suitors?” she asked from out of the blue, approaching his table where he sat making good of some meats, dry cheeses and a few loaves of bread.
“I am, woman. What of it?” he asked with a snort.
“Aye, another fool. I supposed at much. You’re in for it, laddie!” It was her turn to make a snort, but she gave it in a more porcine fashion than the prince could ever have managed.
“Why’s that? I have met her, she keeps good company!” he said with some disgust.
“Aye, wise lady, ain’t she?”
“She is a wise woman, yes.”
“That’s because she’s a witch, I say, young man. A regular Druid, and a bad one at that. Worse than most. She doesn’t pray to trees as much as she drains their sap like a little leech for her abominable potions and such…”
“What say you? Why do you make such outrageous accusations, then, woman? You know nothing of this!”
“Do I not? I’ve lived here all my life…sixty good years…and never once has the Lady Galldah not been living in those towers…”
“Preposterous! She can’t be more than twenty-five! You’re mad…”
“Am I now? Ask anyone. I warned you blokes before about her. You never listen, then you vanish away into thin air. Why isn’t she married now, eh?”
“She hasn’t found the right man. The time will soon come,” he responded, boastfully. “Besides, if old crones such as you find it perfectly understandable to slander her good name about, no wonder some of the more dull-witted suitors retreat wenceforth they came!”
“Crone, am I? If it weren’t for you lot, she’d be a bag of bones!”
“What?”
“Look, man…did ye see any servants walking about the castle, now? You saw how big the thing is. You’d expect to see someone traipsing about besides the Ladyship and her father…” she spoke slowly, “Wouldn’t ye now?”
“I…did not see any, this is true…but I saw food in great abundance…”
“She’s a witch. She makes her own with her spells. Her spells also make her young, but not without some ingredients…”
“You’re mad!”
“I’m mad? She grinds up the suitors, don’t you see? The energetic ones she goes for. Her stock must be replenished yearly, you know. She runs low on the stuff…”
A piece of bread suddenly dropped out of Gwydion’s mouth. What sort of madwoman was he dealing with? He nervously reached for his bread knife just in case she started foaming…
“Been inside her study? Nay, course not. Not yet. She gets them in there. She has a little pool, you she. She takes the essence from these men, here, and she puts them in her little vials. She pours the stuff out into her little pool so as she can wash her face in it all and rejuvenate herself. She gives a little to her father, but only to keep suspicions down. She thinks we’ll all die off and never notice these things…we know all right. But you lot don’t…she’s been feeding on you for ages!”
“That’s quite enough!”
“You’ll see. She’ll take you in there, you know, and make her preparation. First, she’ll use whatever’s left of the last fool, and then she’ll go in for you…”
“Leave me, woman!”
“You have silver for the lady? Show her! You’ll see! A witch, I say!”
The Prince had heard enough. He quickly moved away from the table, and went outside, slamming the little oaken door behind him. Breathing in some of the sea air, he glanced across the firth at the castle, and then went in search of his baggage master.
The next morning was more pleasant. After a light breakfast, he went walking along the shore. He found himself pondering over what that old biddy had said, and tried to dismiss it from his mind. There were odd things about the castle, yes, but the Lady Galldah seemed hardly a witch. This was an old maid’s tale, such as frequently passes about small towns and hamlets where the inhabitants find little to get excited over except rich visitors and their doings.
All the same, he decided to take with him a silver hairpin among the gifts he had brought for her.
At noon, as the tide receded, the Prince Gwydion rode his now watered stallion over the land bridge, approaching the rotting pyramid of stone once again. This time, in response to his call, the door opened immediately, and out again stepped the beautiful lady, clad as always in green, looking just as fresh and beautiful as always.
“Ah, I see my visitor is punctual as ever this morning,” she said.
“I am, Lady. I could not be more pleased than I am to see you again.”
She led him inside once again, and he found himself taking another walk through the corroding passages.
“Pardon, Lady Galldah, but are we walking to the banquet hall? This seems to be a different route. I am assuredly mistaken, but…”
“No, dear one, you are quite correct. The food is still being prepared, and in preparation I will entertain you in my own study. You will find it quite interesting, I think. My father was an avid collector of all things scientific. You will find much in there to display this curiosity.”
She stepped inside the room first, and then beckoned him onward with one of her graceful fingers. “Here we are, my dear.”
The room was not especially large, but it was amazing all the same. From one of the arched stone windows protruded a rather gray beam of light that seemed to shine down through the rotting rafters in one of the old ceilings. More such beams shot down from the old arrow loops carved into the walls.
There were many striking items in the room. Most immediately he saw the marble mirror that stood in the center. There was a basin carved within, and there sat inside it a pool of water. She stood over it immediately to look at her reflection and to straighten her hair out with a brush she had by the pool. His eye darted to a bookshelf that was built into the wall. There sat a pile of scrolls, some half-burned candles, and a strange bottle containing a small amount of strange liquid. There were also some stuffed animals such as the rather peevish-looking badger and a very timid hare. He also noted a large black astrolabe standing to one corner of the room.
With a little word, she departed the room momentarily. He quietly reached for the bottle, and opened it. A strange smell emerged from it, and he slowly acted by removing the contents of the bottle as a precaution through one of the windows with a motion of his arm. He then quickly dipped the stuff into the pool, trapping a small amount of water.
He did this without really being aware of what he was doing. Perhaps the woman’s words, followed by the appearance of the study, had bothered him more than he thought. As it was, he took this little precaution, and replaced the bottle upon the shelf before the Lady re-entered the room.
“Sit, dear one,” she said, pointing at a chair by the window.
“Let me first present you with a little gift, if I may,” he responded. He reached into his bag for the right item.
“Why, certainly, I shall not refuse it,” she said with a smile.
He removed a silver hairpin from his bag.
“Put it away! Put it away!” she said, suddenly, flinging herself in one corner, turning about suddenly, and shaking wildly.
His heart sank. “What is it? Have I offended you with my gift? This belonged to my mother…Ah well. If you do not favor it, I shall put it back…” He did so with a sigh, and then leapt for the door. It was locked.
“You are the first to know it, Gwydion. None of your predecessors listened to those warnings, you know,” she said with a smile. “I’m almost sorry. If I could find two men with such energy, I would gratefully smite them both, and share them with you for their energy. I could live with such a man as you, but without one, I would hardly be able to. You see, I live off you suitors. Without you, I’d die… Ah well. You are the bitter hero. A sad price to pay for my immortality, perhaps? My vanity, you see…my only fault…I love my own reflection! I can’t let it grow old!”
“I didn’t believe her…I can’t believe her…” he said with a little voice. His eyes were wide with some unholy terror as she slunk closer to him. He looked upon her and saw a streak of gray in her yellow hair.
“The time is coming fast,” she said, reaching for the bottle. “I’ll attend to you in a minute, dear one. Let me finish off the last one first.”
It's a good thing I found it at the bottom of the thread list. 
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